Belated
by Elise May
Summary: "I can't believe I won't see you again."
1. Chapter 1

_I started this in August, which seems like a ridiculously long time ago now, but then I went off on a bit of a tangent with it as you will see... But here it finally is! I actually can't believe I managed to finish it. There's gonna be quite a few little chapters to it and I know the subject matter probably feels quite irrelevant now after all that's happened, but I've spent a lot of time on this and it's a bit different to what I usually write, so I thought I might as well publish it :)_

* * *

 **Belated**

* * *

He's been restless all day. She's seen the looks, the smiles. But there is something behind his eyes, his eyes that are usually so open to her, that he won't let her see. Not yet. It isn't time, it isn't right when they are in the company of other people, people who happen to be in the way of what was only ever dormant; sleeping. Waiting for a simple touch. A soft word.

It's strange. He asks her questions she doesn't want to answer and yet the words come spilling out of her all the same. Because it's Nick. And it's just so easy. And when he thinks she isn't looking, she allows herself to _feel_. LA isn't a million miles away, but it might as well be. The thought of never seeing him again – of never hearing that stupid laugh of his, never daring to touch his hand, never kissing lips that she never really got the chance to taste, lips that she can't take her eyes from when they come together to form her name, a breathy sigh she does not feel worthy of – makes her feel physically sick, and sometimes she can't hide it.

Sometimes he sees that she is going to miss him as much as he is going to miss her and it hurts. It hurts that she's going, hurts that he's staying.

Carla will see Michelle again. She's even optimistic that Roy will visit her at some point, the pull of the unknown something he won't be able to resist. They'll be holidays and phone calls and updates on social media accounts they'll only ever use for each other. But Carla won't have that with Nick. All they'll be left with is silence and words left unsaid and things left undone.

He follows her to her car. And he follows her to her flat. And if she were any other woman and he were any other man, perhaps she'd be naïve enough to believe that he'd follow her anywhere.

Wine is poured, but they don't drink much of it. She isn't drunk. In fact, this is the most sober she has felt in a long time. His hand brushes her shoulder, his arm extended around the back of the couch. His eyes are intense against her own, never daring to look away from her, fearful of what he may miss if he does so much as blink. And she feels all of it.

She feels what he feels. The longing, the wanting; the _needing_.

"She's not you."

The relief she feels at his omission cannot be put into words, but Carla finds no problem with this, for forming words is the last thing she feels like doing with her mouth.

A sigh escapes her, though she isn't quite sure how, for what he has finally admitted to her (and to himself) has stolen the air from her lungs and she feels like gasping. They hit her, their impact on her physical, and her lips are already parted, her head already angled in his direction, before he has even so much as leant towards her.

And as he kisses her, gently to the point of pain, she wonders how they have managed to resist this for so long, how they have managed to resist each other. There is a knot in her chest that pulls tighter the closer he draws her into him and she finds herself reaching for him, needing the space that exists between them gone. Gone now. Her lips do not leave his as she climbs onto his lap, her position uncomfortable as she settles one leg on either side of his thighs, but she doesn't care. She doesn't have the time to. She gasps involuntary as his hands make their way from her face to her middle, pressing, squeezing; and she knows that he is smiling into their kiss. She is smiling, too.

Carla threads her fingers through his hair – pulling at it, pulling him closer – and when they finally part for breath, their eyes meet and her chest heaves against his. His kisses to her cheek are gentle; lingering. She thumbs the buttons of his shirt before she pulls at them, too. He kisses her again – or perhaps she kisses him. They know only that they cannot stop with their kisses and they do not stop with them until it is absolutely necessary to do so.

He drags her shirt from her body and lays his hands flat against her back. She is cold, but his lips are warm against her collarbones, her fingers dancing against his chest, his shirt half open and his jacket still on, and he almost jerks away from the movement, her hands colder than he had been expecting, except he doesn't. He mustn't. It is a rush with which they rid themselves of what is preventing their skin from touching and when it finally does, they cannot help but sigh with contentment.

Carla finds that she is rocking against him. It's almost embarrassing how desperate she is for him, but she cannot find it in herself to stop. He moves, as if to lift her, but she pushes him back down against the sofa and her breath is hot as her lips kiss along his jawline and she pleads, "Here. I want you here."

So they do not move, not until much later when the temperature drops and they long for some warmth that is more than what they can find in each other. She takes him to her bed, leads him quietly there and without a thought as to consequence in the dead of night, and he has her there, too. She can't remember what the time is when she finally settles down to sleep, but his words in her ear are the last thing she hears and the saddest thing about them is that she believes in what he says, completely and utterly. But tears fill her closed eyes as he speaks because _he has to_.

"I'm not letting you go," he whispers.


	2. Chapter 2

_Behold, a Christmas miracle! Thank you so much for the reviews, as always!_

* * *

 **Belated**

* * *

She wakes in his arms and her head lays heavy upon his chest. He is stroking her hair, curling locks of it around her fingers as he waits for her to become aware of her surroundings. She does become aware, and all too quickly. She jerks away from him with tired eyes that are not what he had been hoping to meet because they are filled with regret and, he supposes, a form of sadness he cannot even begin to understand.

"Nick," she breathes, and it's like she cannot believe he is there.

He purses his lips and reaches for one of her hands, which she allows him take without question. The confusion fades from her face ever so slightly and Nick allows himself a small smile as he runs his thumb across her knuckle.

"Good morning," he says.

She stares at him. She just looks at him for what feels like the longest of moments before she leans in to kiss him, stopping his mouth with hers before she is able to say something, anything, she knows she will regret. He responds to the kiss like she knew he would and, for a moment, she allows herself to forget all but the way he feels against her, all but the the way he is holding her — anchoring her to him as if he knows that to let go is to _let go_ — and the way he is making her feel. His grip around her waist does not slacken as she is pulled on top of him. Her fingers latch onto his hair, forehead pressed to his as the kiss breaks and her eyes slowly open.

"Nick," she repeats.

He kisses her cheek. His words are a whisper, "You're so beautiful."

Her chest tightens and she cannot face him, so she buries her head into his neck and places a number of lingering against his skin, if only to soothe her conscience. Minutes pass before she finally tears herself away from him. As she does so, his face is a picture, all lost and needy and instantly sober. She reaches for her dressing gown, tying the silk robe tightly around her. She turns back around to face him and answers the question he hasn't yet found the words to ask, one hand on her hip and the other feebly attempting to smooth down her hair.

"I need to get ready for work," she says. If only it were quite that simple.

He appears dumbfounded as he goes to sit up.

"Work?"

She nods.

"Well, to work. The factory won't sell itself, will it?"

If there was any colour in his cheeks before this sentence, there certainly isn't much left in them now.

"You're not serious," he says quietly.

"Of course I am."

Carla smiles and Nick wants to cherish the sight, except he knows that the smile is false and that it is only there for his benefit. He is now beginning to believe that he has taken too much from her already.

"Please tell me I didn't imagine _—_ What happened last night _—_ It _—_ "

"Woah, Nick. Nick." A soft laugh escapes her at the stupidity of what he is saying. She shakes her head, but lowers her eyes. On the bed, Nick has his head in his hands. "You think that was one sided, do you?"

"Well _— "_

She takes a step towards him to softly kiss his forehead. She regrets it instantly, hope flashing in his eyes that is gone as soon as she says, "Get dressed. Go home. And talk to your girlfriend, will you? Remember her?"

He should look more guilty than he does. He should feel it, too.

Instead, he breathes her name, reaching for the sash of her robe as if to keep her with him. "Carla."

"No, it's alright. I'm alright. Honestly, Nick. I'm leaving, remember?" She sighs, like she's tired all of a sudden. If only she could believe in what she is saying. " _This_ doesn't change that. It doesn't change anything."

It is now his turn to stare at her. He only stops when she gently pries his hands from her, turning to leave the room — but her hand lingers over his for what is a moment too long. Her hesitation allows him to take it properly into his. They don't break eye contact. Nick clears his throat.

"Where are you going?"

"I need a shower."

"No, you don't."

"Yes. I do."

Her breath catches as he lets go of her hand and uses his to cup her face. She leans into him, eyes closed and a deep sigh escaping her. He is closing the gap that exists between them, drawing himself upwards so that they are level and their lips are almost touching when he very nearly groans, "I need you."

And that is all it takes to make her cave once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Belated**

* * *

For the next week, she does the impossible and manages to avoid him. She doesn't eat out, doesn't stay late at the factory for the fear of bumping into him as she exits. He isn't a part of her life for the first time in months and it's strange. Does she miss him? Probably more than what's good for her, but it's nothing to do with the sex or the way he makes her feel. No. What she misses most about him is his company. The ease of it, the way in which she could lose herself in it for what felt like hours when really only a matter of minutes had passed and they'd barely spoken a word.

She sells the factory to an anonymous buyer. It's a cold, calculated move she wishes she had it in her to regret. But then it's just one more reason for others to hate her, she supposes; one more reason she can convince herself to leave because of. When the day of her departure comes, there are tears from Michelle, kind words from Roy she doesn't believe herself to be deserving of, and nothing from Nick until the very last minute.

She is already in a cab to the airport, Lloyd nattering on about this and that to her as if she hasn't just made one of the biggest decisions of her life, when she catches his eye by Victoria Court. There is something in his expression, a neediness for closure, that makes her force Lloyd to pull over next to him. He throws her a confused look which disappears the moment he spots Nick at the curb. Then a look of realisation crosses his face and he silently unlocks the door to allow her to get out.

Carla does so slowly, a great weight resting upon her shoulders she knows a single conversation in the street is not going to unburden her of.

"Nick." She sounds weak and unsure, but most of all she sounds sad. "I was just..."

"On your way to the airport, yeah."

He flashes her a brave smile, raises his eyes from the floor. It's almost as if breathing is a physical effort for him. She can see his chest moving as he speaks, so exaggerated. It pains him to even speak.

"Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye?" he asks her, his voice as broken as she feels.

"Oh, Nick." Her eyes close to keep the tears at bay she hadn't even realised were forming. "I'm not going to lie to you. I don't know what to say."

He almost laughs, her honesty something he has always been appreciative of. He shakes his head slightly.

"Neither do I," he admits.

"I thought I could just leave without a word, but I'd have regretted it, I think."

Nick takes a deep breath before he speaks again.

"I should've come to find you before now. I wanted to, but... like I said, I don't have any words."

 _Not ones that won't terrify you. Not words I know won't scare you away, words that will make you never want to come back._

Carla smiles, genuinely.

"We've done our fair share of talking these past few months, haven't we?" Her tone is reflective, soft; and it makes Nick nod.

"Yeah, we have."

The mood of the conversation feels different all of a sudden, more serious somehow. Carla manages to meet Nick's eyes, but her stare is wavering. He is slipping through her fingers as she is slipping through his and it is beginning to feel all the more real now.

"You've been a friend to me, Nick." She swallows the lump that is quickly developing in her throat. "A real friend when most people just ran away. Most people left me, hung me out to dry." There's a pause. "But not you."

He cannot help himself.

"Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?"

Her breath catches. She blinks moisture from her eyes.

"Some idea, yes," she manages. "It's probably somewhere quite close to how much you mean to me."

Nick breathes a sigh of relief.

"So, too much, then?"

She nods with a smile she cannot fight.

"Yeah. Too much." It feels like she is drowning, her words so thick and dry as she forces them out of her mouth that she very nearly feels sick. "I meant what I said, you know? I'm expecting a Christmas card from you." Of all of the things she could have said, he had not been expecting that and it is obvious in the way that he laughs, almost in awe of the way she is still able to surprise him. She smiles. "I mean it." Her voice raises a little. "I still want us to be friends, Tilsley. Even when I'm on one side of the Atlantic and you are on the other."

 _Friends_.

God, he aches.

His face is laced with pain, but he manages a grin.

"Can we stretch to birthday cards, too, do you think?"

She tilts her head, contemplating the idea.

"Oh, I think we could just about manage that."

And then they are holding each other in a tight, tight hug neither want to be the first to break. She presses her face into his neck and gently breathes in his scent. He rocks them, savouring the comfort which she so easily provides him with. And it's something so simple, but the kiss he places to her hair makes her tremble against him and she doesn't want to let go. She doesn't think she can let go.

"Oh, Carla." She can barely recognise his voice. It's broken, breaks as they lose contact and step back from each other, taking in one another's drawn expressions and wet cheeks and knowing it's the last time.

It has to be. It's what Carla keeps telling herself.

"Look after yourself, Nicholas," Carla whispers. And Nick nods in reply because that is all he can do.

She touches his arm, _I'm gonna miss you, you know_ , and before she can object, he is kissing her and she is kissing him back. And for now, that is enough. But the sound of a car horn, loud and a warning, pulls them apart. They sigh and look away, Carla turning her body in the direction of Lloyd and his cab and his almost disbelieving eyes.

"Don't be a stranger," she says as she takes her phone from her pocket and waves it at Nick.

He nods, gives her a weak smile.

"Text me," he replies. "Once you've arrived. So I know you're safe."

She's one half of her body into the cab and she is ignoring his tears, the way he swallows thickly and refuses to look away.

"Okay. I will. Well, then." She is sat in the back and the car door is open. Her hands clutch her bag so tightly where it sits upon her lap that her knuckles are white, but it is the only part of her that feels truly tense. "I'll be seeing you, Nick."

It sounds like a promise, even though it's not. As the cab drives away into dusk, Nick stands alone on the corner of the street. Words he is sure of spin in his head.

 _You will._


End file.
